


Ticking Down

by Innin



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7695811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigrun likes Siv. A lot. Turns out it's mutual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ticking Down

**Author's Note:**

> 99% inspired and enabled by a stream chat on the topic and the people there, really just an excuse for mostly contextless smutting. Torbjörn's note is blatantly nicked from Super's idea, and I'd like to thank Anna for giving this a look.

Sigrun likes Siv. A lot. Defeatist talk or not, when they end up sitting across each other at the post-mission celebration-slash-ball (it's a fancy thing at a fine hotel that they can actually afford now and that needed even Sigrun to borrow a dress) Siv radiates something that's worlds away from the mousey little scientist mom of three whose mouth is stuck in a permanent downward tilt. She rambles on about the implications of the team's observations, the vaccine they've found, and the testing process. 

Sigrun understands maybe a word out of three, but that doesn't matter. Siv's lips do. 

* * * 

That evening surprises Sigrun, but she's been without for three months, Siv wears a sleek black dress that glitters when she moves up the stairs to her hotel room, and damn, her ass looks good in it. 

Her ass looks even better when that dress is on the floor, when Siv's taking full advantage of Sigrun's height, pressing flush against her and slick fingers wrapping around each other between their bodies. It's not a question of liking or 'just how drunk are we and how did we get here?', it's how to best use their time and precisely zero regrets.

* * * 

Two days until the next Dalahästen to the coast, and Sigrun's cordially invited to stay at headquarters. 

Torbjörn notices. Of course he does, the man's a crook and a scammer but he's smart for a Västerström. They brush too often for it to be coincidence, they talk, and some unhappy pinchedness on Siv's face is gone. 

Siv kisses Sigrun breathless when her husband's outside with the kids and pushes herself against the heel of her hand until she comes with her panties still on. "So demanding," Sigrun chides, laughing. "What about me now?" 

"I'll make our time count," Siv grins. 

* * * 

Sigrun can't think. 

Doesn't want to, either. Not with Siv's tongue playing circles around her clit like she's a cat out for all the cream, or Siv's fingernails on the scar on her thigh while she's angling Sigrun's legs open like there's an audience.

Hel damn Sigrun if Siv doesn't know what she's doing. She's a tiny sweet soft married Swedish science woman and she shouldn't know how to get Sigrun flat on her back, and how well those two fingers work in tandem with her tongue and how she fucking moans like she struck gold.

She's not complaining.

* * * 

"I need a shower," Sigrun murmurs. She likes feeling spent, it's a good feeling after fights that leave her alive, and after sex that takes her by surprise, but she also likes the prickle of hot water on her skin - and company. 

Siv's happy to be that company; they slide on the tiles and Sigrun bangs her head on the shower wall, but it resolves into laughter, Siv's mouth on her nipples, Siv's knee between her thighs, the shower plastering Siv's hair to her face - enough to make Sigrun drop to her knees and put her mouth to good use.

* * * 

When Sigrun comes from the bathroom, there's a gorgeously soft coil of rope waiting on the bed that slides over her callouses without snagging on any rough skin. It's the note waiting on top that makes her crack up. Siv hurls herself out of the bathroom from her post-shower beauty routine, wearing only a towel lopsided on her head. 

"Have fun, sweetheart," Sigrun reads. "T." 

Siv goes beet-red and covers her face, but stands her ground when Sigrun saunters over to pull those hands away. They're open, then - she'd suspected something like that, but it's brave in her own way.

* * * 

Sigrun appreciates how Siv lets herself be moved to the bed despite the slight resistance in her muscles. 

And eventually, when Sigrun kisses her neck from behind and breathes in the scent of some expensive skin cream - when Siv's all trussed-up with her eyes blown wide as Sigrun fixes another rope around her torso and tips her head back to whisper a promise - when she hasn't got a lot of choice, that's the moment Siv melts with a soft sound that turns all of Sigrun's bones to water. 

She bites down - gently, Siv's so petite - and ties the final knot. 

* * * 

The world goes blurry at the edges when Siv's the center focus to it. Sigrun sits back to admire her handiwork - there's water from the shower still pearling over Siv's ribs just below a spot where the rope presses its pattern into her skin when she breathes, there's the mess of striped scars over her hips and belly up to her waist, and it's there that Sigrun first rests her hand. The warmth of the shower is still in Siv's skin, a flush lingering around her collarbone - or is that new? 

She kisses it all the same, content a while. 

* * *

Sigrun thinks afterwards, when Siv's snoring softly next to her, that ropes and bondage can be hella sexy, and it's a shame it's over with so quickly - licking downward from Siv's tits, and taking every advantage of her - until Siv comes like a steam train bucking against Sigrun's face, straining the ropes, and goes boneless. 

Sigrun is, strangely enough, already sated. Untied again, Siv rakes her hands through Sigrun's hair and they talk until their eyes shut. It's still zero regrets - but thinking about home makes Sigrun burrow deeper into the pillows and ignore time's ticking down far too quick.

* * *

Not going to the train would give Sigrun more time, but she's used to tackling troubles, not running. 

Siv, who's taking her, looks resigned and tired - some from lack of sleep, more her default expression - but comes after her when Sigrun boards the train and kisses her in sight of passengers and crew, holding Sigrun's face between her hands. 

"Ah," Siv mutters, suddenly smiling awkwardly. "Take care. Until next winter. I'll have - work to do, thanks to you. Thanks." 

"Mmm," Sigrun says against her lips before Siv hops out and the door shuts. Next winter. It's not much - but enough.


End file.
